


Three Go To Kirrin Cove Caravan Park

by asparagusmama



Series: The Molly Hathaway-Lewis futurefic kidfic collection [4]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Futurefic, I swap PoVs far too often, Kidfic, M/M, Molly has an adventure, Molly makes a friend, Molly to the rescue, baked beans and hash browns, gluten free jam tarts, grown ups are stupid, head like an anvil, save the rag dolls!, special grown up cuddles, very young children having highly unbelievable adventures!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on holiday by the seaside, Molly Hathaway-Lewis meets a rather adventurous child and her dog and causes nothing but worry to her fathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The holiday begins

By the time the car was unpacked and tea and soya hot chocolate made it was gone seven. Molly had at first stood staring at the caravan, moaning and hugging herself. It took her fathers some while to realise she had imagined an old-fashioned Gypsy wagon from picture books or a modern small touring van like their next door neighbours had. They explained about mobile homes and holiday homes and then she had to walk all the way around, looking carefully for where the water came in and where the electricity and gas were connected. While she was doing this one of the children who had been playing opposite came over and asked her to play. Molly had looked uncertainly at her parents but Robbie smiled encouragingly and James nodded so Molly went over to play.

There were four boys and two girls, ranging from two to seven, a mixture of siblings and cousins, playing ‘It’. Molly stood patiently waiting to be told what to do as the children ran about shrieking with laughter, grabbing at each other. The older girl tried to kindly explain the rules of the game but Molly wasn’t sure she understood. The boys kept shouting at her and the girls kept explaining the rules again. Molly was sure they kept changing.

Eventually the girls pulled Molly from the game and sat on the grass between their two caravans. The older one told her how she was from London but that the little one was from Harlow in Essex and her cousin. She explained that they had one caravan for her Mum, Grandma, step-Dad and brother as well as her and that the other caravan was for her Auntie, Uncle and cousins. She looked at Molly expectantly.

Molly looked at a ladybird on a blade of grass and tried to count the spots.

“So what about you? Is that your Grandpa and Dad? Where’s your Mum? Do you stay with your Dad just sometimes? I do!” The friendly girl had dark long hair, milky coffee coloured skin peppered with freckles compared to her all milk-white, freckled ginger haired brother and cousins.

“Don’t have a Mum,” Molly said crossly. “Don’t need a Mum. I never had a Mum!”

By now all the boys were surrounding the girls curious and smiling.

“Is she dead?” the oldest boy asked. “That’s so sad. Sorry.”

“I don’t have a Mum,” Molly repeated again as if the boy were particularly stupid. “I don’t have a Grandpa neither. I have an old Dad. I have two Dads! Dad and Daddy. So!”

“At the same time?” the older girl asked uncertainly. “I’ve got a Dad and Dave, who’s my step-Dad.”

Molly looked up and sighed, rolling her eyes and then snapped, “Yes! At the same time.”

“How can that work?” asked the older boy, genuinely puzzled. “How did you get born? It just doesn’t work like that.” Then he howled as Molly punched him hard where it is easy for a sitting down little girl to reach a slightly older boy – in the groin.

All was pandemonium for a minute, and, yet again, Molly found herself scooped up in Daddy’s arms while he was apologising to other grown ups. Again.

 

*

 

“You make me sad,” Dad said a while later, after Daddy had showered her, given her the sleepy medicine ‘that only special little girls have’ and made more hot chocolate. She was sat on Dad’s lap while Daddy sat on the other sofa, or rather the other bit of the sofa – Molly loved the way it was all joined together and went around the corner from the end window to the ‘wall’ of the caravan. Daddy was playing his guitar softly.

“Why?” she muttered indistinctly, sucking on Rosie’s cloth hand. “I’m not sad.”

“You can’t go around punching people. It’s against the law. You have to stop it Molly.”

“Why? I always punch people who say horrid things about you and Daddy.”

Robbie and James glanced at each other.

“Saying horrid things is wrong, Molly, but hurting people is more wrong,” James said carefully.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Robbie said. James looked at him crossly.

“Why?” muttered Molly, but the antihistamines and the sea air were working and she was beginning to fall asleep.

James had just carried her through to bed when there was a tap at the door. He answered it. It was one of the parents from opposite, a young, harassed looking skinny woman with red hair and green eyes, wearing a grey vest top and jeans.

“I come over to say sorry,” she began. “Josh just asked about your little girl and you – Josh is the one your daughter hit – and I just realised summink. He upset your girl badly, but he didn’t mean to. He’s not homophobic, I promise you. He didn’t mean nothing. His mate at school, his Mum is pregnant and he’s just got where babies come from, if you get me. He didn’t mean nothing rude. I hope you don’t mind, I just explained your little girl was adopted and she was too young to understand yet so to keep quiet. I sort of assumed it was that and not all donor eggs and surrogate mums like Elton John coz then she’d be white, wouldn’t she?” She giggled nervously and looked up at James hopefully.

“It’s fine. Kids are naturally conservative. Once things are explained, they just accept. At least that’s what we’ve found at her nursery and ballet.” James smiled back.

Robbie had come to stand beside James, putting an arm around his waist. “No worries pet,” he said. “We’re sorry too. She mustn’t lash out like that. We’re trying to get her to understand not to hit but there are... one or two issues, her birth mother was a heroin addict.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

James smiled. “She’s fine, just...”

“A bit of a handful,” Robbie completed. “Thanks for coming over. There was no need.”

“Oh, but there was. I don’t want no kid of mine growing up homophobic. Or racist. Or nothing! Your little one is welcome to play with our lot anytime. I could see she was a bit shy, what with being an only one.”

“Thank you” James said, smiling and closing the door before he turned on his husband, “shy. Not weird. Not developmental disorder. You go on about it all the time but at the same time you go confusing her with sayings and random instructions that she can’t follow!”

“James love!”

But James had curled up on the sofa with his book, back to Robbie. Robbie sighed and switched on the TV. They were both tired.

 

*

 

Molly woke up in a panic. It was dark and everything was moving slightly. She remembered Daddy explaining that it would be very dark as they were in a caravan by the seaside in the countryside and not in Oxford and that was a Big City. She reached under her pillow for Daddy’s special big policeman’s torch and switched it on. Instantly she felt less afraid. She liked the way it made a big circle of the room brighter and she played at moving the yellowy-white bright light about the tiny narrow room that was her holiday bedroom. It had two little very narrow beds and the smallest of gaps in between them. She could understand now why Daddy hadn’t let her bring Daffodil’s doll’s cot – Daffodil was a big girl with her own bed. Molly missed her playpen though. It was her safe place to go, with blankets covering it she could crawl inside it with Rosie and be alone and quiet in a safe-dark place not a scary one like here before the policeman’s torch made its big circle of light.

It wasn’t scary anymore though, there was just that puzzling rocking motion of the caravan, like when Daddy or Dad had walked but bigger and more rocky! And her parents were obviously in bed asleep, there was no light. Was it the wind? She couldn’t hear it howling in the trees. Were there trees near by? She thought so. Maybe it was the wind and the caravan was going to blow away like Dorothy’s house! She quickly grabbed hold of Joey, her scruffy raggedy dog, his teething ring attachment long lost. He wasn’t black – or white like the stupid movie that got it all wrong – but he could still be Toto.

Then she heard the moaning. And little sighs. Daddy. It was Daddy. He was sick. Then why didn’t Dad make him better? Then she heard Dad laugh. She didn’t like that laugh. Daddy moaned some more, and more loudly too. Dad was hurting Daddy!

Determined, Molly held the torch tightly, Joey-Toto in her other hand, and got out of bed to rescue Daddy.

 

*

 

For a few seconds James had worried that Robbie had put his back out again, although they weren’t doing anything athletic or adventurous! The first few seconds in which Robbie had yelled, sworn and sat up abruptly, pulling up, out and away from James and causing him too momentary discomfort as he’d jabbed his knee into the back of James’ thigh. And then, just as he struggled to turn over and reach for the light he heard the very angry and determined threat from Molly,

“Don’t you dare hurt my Daddy!”

James snapped the light on. Robbie was clutching his head, looking a bit dazed. Molly was standing beside the bed wielding his torch like a club. Molly’s eyes widened in shock at their nakedness. James just as quickly snapped off the light.

“Cover your eyes Molly!” he demanded and then put back on the light. Fortunately Molly had done as she was told for once and stood, torch dropped, with both hands over her eyes. He hurriedly reached for his pyjama trousers and covered Robbie with the quilt. Robbie was moaning slightly. He took his hand away from his head and looked at the thin but definite wet strip of fresh blood.

“Bloody hell!”

James looked at the tiny nick and the huge purple swelling rising almost cartoon style on his husband’s head. “Shit! Molly! Fuck! Molly!”

Molly started to wail.

James panicked, torn between husband and daughter, looking from one to the other and back again. What should he do? Who should he look after?

“Sort her out,” Robbie said gruffly. “I’m fine. Looks worse than it is.”

James looked at Robbie. He didn’t look dazed anymore and he sounded compos mentis, so he leapt out of bed and scooped up the still wailing Molly and carried her out of the bedroom.

 

*

 

Robbie followed them about five minutes later. He was fine, he just had a nick where the edge of the torch had caught him in his thinning hair on the top of his head. He’d probably have one hell of a bump too.

Molly was curled up in James’ arms, not quite sitting on his lap as James too was curled up into the cushions of the sofa. He was talking in a low, calm voice. The calm, gentle, patient voice he always cultivated for when Molly was distressed. Robbie found it harder to stay clam with her at times. He tried so hard not to be jealous of their close bond but sometimes, like now, he wondered what the hell he’d done wrong. If only he had known it, or talked to James about how he felt, he would realised James thought Robbie’s experience as a parent before and his long experience as a beat officer in his youth gave Robbie the advantage with Molly at her worst and James was frequently stressing he was doing anything wrong even as he calmly spoke to their daughter. But they never actually talked about how they felt about Molly’s very different way of looking at the world and her very different way of dealing with anything stressful or confusing – which for Molly, was becoming nearly everything as she grew older. 

Now, However, Robbie was asking himself what he had done wrong. He remembered her outburst in the supermarket. He had thought the scene she had caused, the things she had said to him, was a one off, but obviously not. He was The Enemy. How the hell had that happened? He thought he had another ten years until that happened. It was Mark all over again, with shades of hideous teenaged Lyn thrown in for good measure. Except even at his worse after Val’s death Mark hadn’t assaulted him.

Sighing, Robbie filled the kettle for tea and cocoa and left James to it.

 

*

 

“Dad didn’t hurt me Molly. He wasn’t hurting me. We were cuddling.”

“You were making sad hurty noises! Dad was laughing!”

“They were happy noises Molly. They were special happy noises because Dad was cuddling me. Dad was laughing because he was happy because he was making me feel nice.”

“How?”

James pulled Molly tighter to him, pushing his face in her thatch of unruly, soft, unbrushed, sticking out black curls. He really ought to sort her out again, cornrows or a collection of lots of little bunches after a good brush and comb and deep conditioner. The salt-spray of the sea would just make the tangles worse so he’d leave it until they got home. He was hiding his blushes as much as he was distracting himself from answering. But he knew he must answer, and very soon, Molly would not leave something alone once she wanted to know. In the end he answered with a cliché.

“It was a special cuddle Molly, a special cuddle for grown up people who are married or who love each other and live together or dating,” James knew he had to be precise even though he was wishing the floor would just open up and eat him. “You know, people who are nearly married that we talked about before?” this problem had arisen with a succession of Auntie Laura’s ‘friends’ and Lyn and Tim, who were together and then not, with an on and off thing that was driving her father to distraction with the worry.

“How?” demanded Molly bluntly now.

“You need to be a grown up to know about special grown up cuddles Molly. You have to wait.” James knew it was a cop out but it seemed to work as he could see Molly working it out as she wriggled away from him, a small frown of concentration on her face.

“When I’m married?” she asked eventually. Molly, who attended church with James and went to Sunday school might not get what communion was but she understood rules, which was why dating and living together had had to be explained. ‘Heaven help us’ Robbie had said then, ‘when she wants to know the difference between a proper marriage and a civil partnership!’. James had replied with a smile, ‘Hopefully Parliament will have got its act together and we’ll be explaining why she has to be a bridesmaid again.’ Now James desperately wanted this conversation done with. But Molly, with her great memory and literal brain couldn’t be brushed off and she certainly would need the facts of life a lot earlier than her wedding night!

“Well, a bit before,” James said it want he hoped was a tone that told Molly this conversation was done now. “Maybe quite a lot before. When you are a teenager. Dad an I will explain then.”

“But is it the same?” Molly demanded, looking worried.

“Is what?” James was startled and confused. What was Molly asking now? Robbie just then joined them and, glancing worriedly at James, placed mugs of tea and a lidded beaker of cocoa on the coffee table before sitting next to them.

“Grown up cuddles. The same. For girls. I mean women. And is it the same if when I am a big grown up I want to marry a man or a woman?”

James looked at Robbie, a beseeching, helpless sort of look. Robbie grinned a James’ panicked face and said firmly to Molly, “Grown up cuddles feel the same,” and he went on equally firmly, ignoring Molly as she began to open her mouth to protest or question, “and I was married to Val, Lyn’ Mam before I married Daddy so I do know. Have some cocoa.” And he quickly placed the beaker into Molly’s hands before passing James his tea.

After they had all drank in silence for a while, James gave Molly a prompting look.

“I’m sorry Dad. I thought you were hurting Daddy.”

“It’s okay pet. I’m fine.”

“But I hit you real hardy. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Head like an anvil, me.” Robbie grinned. “Right as rain now.”

Molly opened her mouth and then closed it again, torn between what was most important. She sucked at her beaker spout until the cocoa was all gone and took a deep breath, asking all in a rush, 

“What’s an anvil and how can rain be right?”

 

*

 

Naturally Molly was far beyond sleep, hyperactive, agitated and bored beyond measure. Peppa Pig on James’ laptop achieved nothing. As for reading a story or music, she was incapable of giving anything any attention at all. Instead, Robbie decided they would get their sunrise on the beach after all, a day later. So, picnic, towels and a blanket duly packed and carried by James, they set off through the park and to the beach. Molly had thought having to be extra quiet as they went past the caravans with people sleeping inside a great game. She even managed to stay quiet through the scrubland to the cliff path and down through the rocks. Fortunately.

 

Molly had been silent as the sun rose too, rapt in the beauty of it. She desperately wanted the words to say so as ‘nice’ and ‘pretty’ suddenly seemed so inadequate to her. Then she ate three bowls of Rice Krispies and soya milk and curled up on the blanket between her fathers and fell asleep, finally giving the couple a little time to themselves for a much needed whispered conversation.

“’Special happy noises’!” Robbie blurted out in a whisper, covering his snigger.

“Well, what else do I say? But I’m telling you, the way I feel now, there will be no ‘special grown up cuddles’ for quite a while!”

“How long?”

“About fifteen years,” James deadpanned.

“Hell! I might be too old. I’m not waiting that long.” He grinned at James. James smirked back.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Seriously? I thought it was your back at first, and then when I saw her there, torch in hand...”

“Fine. I’m fine James. Seriously love. She didn’t hit me that hard.”

“But the blood?”

“Just a graze love, see.” Robbie tipped his head forward and pointed to a small cut atop a swollen purple bruise. “And things happen. When we get back I’ll get bolts for both outside and inside our bedroom door, okay? But you are right.”

“What?”

“No ‘special grown up cuddles’ ’til we’re back home again.” Robbie lay back and grinned again.

James smiled back and then lay back himself, looking up at the freshly minted dawn sky, blue streaked with white high strips of cirrus cloud, and watching the sea gulls circle in the air. “It’s beautiful here,” he said and then fell silent.

After a while Robbie broke the silence. “They were ‘special happy noises’ weren’t they? I was being a bit – you know? We’ve been a bit pissed off with one another, and I was a bit rough, maybe?”

“M’m. Nice. Definitely happy noises. And not ‘pissed off’, just tired.”

“Yeah. Definitely that.”

“Wouldn’t be without her though, would we?”

At that Molly sighed and turned over between them, taking her thumb out of her mouth and putting an arm over her Daddy.


	2. Molly meets a very strange ‘boy’ and his dog

The sun was warm on Molly’s face. Noisy birds were shrieking. There was a whooshing, splashing watery noise. Dad was snoring and Daddy was making little slurpy noises. There was a smell of salt and coffee and Daddy’s sun cream and hair gel and Dad’s special soap. Molly opened her eyes.

The sky was blue with clouds that looked like white lines very high up in the sky, maybe even as far as space and two of the normal clouds that looked like cotton wool nearer the ground. The big noisy white, grey and black birds were flying over the sea. In the distance a dog was barking loudly and a child was shouting at it. Molly sat up carefully.

The sea seemed to be a bit nearer, but was still far enough away to be comfortable. The sand was yellow with grey bits and the odd lone pebble. Dad and Daddy had an arm each across her, cuddling her she supposed, but they were holding hands on her legs. The hands had been on her tummy but she had wriggled to sit up. She looked down.

Their hands had their fingers entwined, like a puzzle. Daddy’s fingers looked very white, like milk or paper. She knew Dad was called ‘white’ but his fingers were sort of beigish with pink splodges. Dad’s nails were neatly cut and shaped and shiny but Daddy’s fingernails were all ragged and bitten and sore looking at the ends and the pads of his fingertips were hard, from his guitar playing. Molly liked Daddy’s guitar playing. Dad’s hand was bigger than Daddy’s and his fingers were fatter but Daddy’s were longer. Daddy had rings on his finger. A special one with three shiny stones and a gold one than match Dad’s except Dad didn’t wear his much. Dad lay on his back, his mouth open, making big snoring noises. His face was red in places and his chin and cheeks were dark with growing prickly hair. Daddy’s chin was a bit fuzzy too, but it was so blond it was almost invisible and much softer. He was curled up on his side around Molly and he was sucking his thumb in his sleep. Like Molly did. Molly wriggled some more and stood up.

The sea and the sand stretched one and on, curving slightly so Molly could see the fishing village to the left and more cliffs and rocks to the right and then in the distance on to a big town or city. A very big white boat was far out to sea, maybe heading to the big town. In the middle of the curving bit of sea in front of the beach where she was there was a little island. If Molly squinted she could see on the island what looked like a ruined old castle, the kind of place that looked like it came right from an old-fashioned fairy tale picture book. Wheeling around the crumbling tower of the old castle were little dots that Molly thought were a black kind of birds, not the sea birds, but crows like at home. It was the sort of place Rachel and Kirsty were always having adventures on with their fairy friends. Molly knew that Rachel and Kirsty and the fairies and goblins were pretend not real, but she still couldn’t help thinking that the island looked adventurous. Molly heard the dog bark again.

Molly was hungry. She peeked into the picnic box Daddy had packed and carried here. She knew that there was Rice Krispies, bowls, spoons and milk and her special soya milk but she was excited to see that there was so much more. Was Daddy’s picnic box like Mary Poppin’s carpet bag? She couldn’t see a pot plant or a hat stand though. But she could see the cereal box in the middle and on one side a carton of cow’s milk, sandwiches made with ordinary bread, a big flask, bottles of water, fruit and biscuits. On the other side was her soya milk plus little special soya cartons of chocolate milk and pink milk, little bottles of water that had cartoon pictures on, sandwiches made with her special bread and gluten free jam tarts. There was also a bag of carrot sticks and cucumber slices and another of red grapes and apple slices. Molly went straight for the jam tarts and pink milk.

Again a dog barked, its sharp shout cutting across the wall of background noises of the sea and the big sea birds and Dad’s snoring like a flash of light through a dark sky. Molly looked up in the direction of the dog bark.

Between the beach and the cliff path there had been large rocks with little pools, Molly remembered. As she looked back in that direction now she could see a big boy of about six or seven in shorts and a stripy top. He was sitting on top of a rock while a big shaggy puppy that looked very wet and muddy was scampering about. He had dark curly hair cut very, very short and a tanned face. He was all on his own apart from the puppy. Molly could see no grown-ups at all with him. Molly looked down at her sleeping parents and again up at the rocks, the little pools, the puppy and the boy on his own, all little dark shapes against the cliff face. She decided to investigate. Boys and dogs were not allowed out on their own in Oxford.

 

*

 

Molly clambered over the rocks to get to the boy. He looked up and scowled. He had the deepest blue eyes with his dark hair, a bit like Dad, Molly noticed. He was frowning like Molly did when she was confused or didn’t know the rules so she guessed he didn’t know what to do. Molly would have to go first, she realised.

“Hello,” she said awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re too little to be out on your own!”

Molly bit back the so are you, she could hear Daddy telling her that some people didn’t like the truth, that they thought it ‘rude’. Molly wanted the boy to like her. “I’m not,” she said instead. “My dads are over there.” She pointed down to the beach. It suddenly seemed a long way away. “I wanted to see you. And your dog.”

“He is lovely, isn’t he?” the boy squealed, his face splitting into an enormous grin. It changed his whole face, he looked no longer horrid but beautiful. Daddy was right about the smiling thing too. Although Daddy didn’t smile much either, so maybe Molly could tell him that he was right and should do it too. Molly didn’t smile much. Grown ups were forever commenting on it. 

“He’s called Timmy,” the boy went on. “Isn’t he a darling?” Just then Timmy came up to them and shook himself, showering them both with water. The boy laughed but Molly wasn’t sure if she liked it.

“Look,” said the boy and Molly looked. The rock pool was uneven and on one edge was a star. It seemed to be alive. Another little creature scuttled past moving sideways instead of forwards like most people and animals did.

“Oh,” said Molly.

“A starfish. And a crab.”

“Oh.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m very nearly four. How old are you?”

“I’m almost seven,” the boy said proudly.

“Where are your grown ups?” Molly demanded.

“At home.”

“At home? Is that allowed?”

“Oh. Yes.” The boy pulled a smart phone from his pocket. “Mother has an app. It’s called ‘find George’. She tracks me.”

Molly scowled in thought. “Like a sat nav?” she asked.

“A bit.”

“I think my Daddy has one of those. He’s a policeman. In CID. That means he wears his own clothes. My Dad used to be a policeman too but he’s tired now. I wish he wasn’t tired then he could be the policeman and it could just be me and my Daddy all the time again. He’s the best. He cooks yummy things and when he doesn’t want too we eat chocolate and crisps. Dad is boring and strict about nice foods and he can only cook three things. I have a packet of jam tarts. Do you want one?” Molly took a deep breath. She had never talked to anyone so much before apart from Daddy, Dad, Lyn and Auntie Laura. Nor had she offered to share food with another child, or anyone, before.

George took an apricot jam tart. Molly liked him even more – she liked the red ones much better than the yellow one. George said curiously, “You have two fathers?”

“It is allowed!” Molly stamped her foot crossly.

“I’m sure it is. But poor you. My father shouts all the time. He wouldn’t let me keep Timmy at first so Alf, whose father is a fisherman, looks after him for me. I have to get up really early - as early as the sun! - to spend all day with Timmy! Alf is teaching me to row.”

“My Daddy rows.”

“Not as good as Alf and his father. One day I will be better than them and I will row all the way to my island on my own.”

“Island? That island?” Molly pointed. “Boys don’t own islands!”

George smirked a moment before his scowl was back in place, deeper than before. Molly knew for certain that the face chart at home on the bedroom wall said that lines like that one the forehead with a down turned mouth meant ‘angry’ or confused’ but the smile a minute before meant ‘happy’ or ‘pleased’. You weren’t supposed to have two lots of opposite emotions at the same time! Molly hated it when people didn’t follow the rules. It muddled her. So Molly got angry.

“No one owns islands! Especially little boys of nearly seven!”

“Well I do! So there!”

“God owns islands!” Molly shouted.

“Well I don’t believe in God, so there!” George shouted back. “And I do own that island. Well, Mother does, but she says she will give it to me when I am bigger. It’s been in our family for hundreds of years. It’s called Kirrin Island and I’m called George Kirrin. So there!”

Molly accepted the logic of this. Maybe, if she was really lucky there might be a Hathaway-Lewis Island out there all for her. But she hated losing arguements.

“Well, I bet my Daddy rows better than your stupid Alf and his daddy. My Daddy won an important world famous race and everything!”

 

*

 

James had woken in a panic realising Molly was gone. Then, looking in the direction of the sounds of an over-excited puppy barking and children shouting he saw Molly with a slightly older girl wearing boy’s shorts and tee shirt. The shouting grew louder and more aggressive. He nudged Robbie awake.

“I think Molly’s found a friend.”

“Aye, or another enemy,” Robbie muttered as he struggled to full consciousness.

 

*

 

George suddenly laughed as Timmy showered them again with water from the rock pool he’d been swimming in.

“Okay. Pax,” she said as Molly shrieked angrily and rubbed at her skin.

“What is pax?”

“I think it means ‘sorry, let’s be friends’ or something. My father says it to mother after he has had another tantrum. He never says sorry to me.” She scowled again.

“Do daddies have tantrums?”

“Mine does. He throws things and stamps his feet and bangs doors and shouts. Mother says it is because he is a very clever, famous scientist. That’s why I say ‘poor you’, thinking about two shouting fathers. I didn’t mean to say anything mean or nasty.”

“Then pax to you too,” Molly said. She looked down at the pool and tried to find the crab and the starfish again. George realised what she was doing.

“I know all over these rock pools. I could show you lots of fishes and sea creatures. If you want.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Sounding very grown up and a bit pompous George said, “We must ask your fathers first. I expect you don’t have an iphone with a find Molly app.” And with that George set off clambering over the rocks down to the beach and towards the two men on the blanket who were both looking out towards their direction. Timmy bounded joyfully after her, barking furiously.

Molly grumbled, “I don’t have a phone at all, not even a normal one,” and followed.

 

*

 

“Daddy. Dad. This boy is going to show me fish shaped liked stars and other things from the sea that get stuck in the big puddles in the rocks. Come on George.”

“Hold on a minute Molly,” Robbie said, grabbing he wrist before she could walk away. She shrieked although he had applied no pressure.

“We need more information Molly,” James said. “Hello George. Is this your dog?”

“He’s called Timmy. Isn’t he a darling!”

James smiled as the puppy slobbered all over his hand and wrist as he patted him. “He’s lovely George. Where is your Mum or Dad or responsible grown up who is with you?”

“Oh, pooh! I don’t need a grown up. I’m nearly seven. And look!” George waved her phone. “Mummy has put on a find George app. She tracks me all day on her laptop or ipad. I’m George Kirrin sir,” George added, suddenly remembering her manners. “My mother owns and runs the caravan park. She home schools me. I have to write a report every day on what Timmy and I have seen and done. The she makes me do maths worksheets,” George scowled deeply at the thought of maths.

While James appeared to be taking in all this information, Robbie asked practically, “Can you tell the time George?”

“Yes sir. It’s oh eight forty seven hours.”

“Okay, Molly can go look at the rock pools with you but you must have her back with us in about an hour. That okay?”

George looked directly at Robbie. “Oh nine forty eight hours,” she said, having noticed the time change on her phone. “Yes, I will. I promise. And I always keep my promises.”

Robbie tried not to laugh at the small, stern serious cross-dressing child. “Ten o’clock, uh oh ten hundred hours will do George. You are obviously a highly organized young lady.”

George scowled while Molly exclaimed, “Dad! George is a boy!”

“Are you sure about that Molly?”

“I am a boy!” muttered George darkly.

Molly looked sternly at George, examining every detail of the slightly older child. “Do you do wees sitting down or standing up?” she demanded.

George scowl grew deeper and she flushed red. “Sitting down,” she muttered, angry at herself for such a failing. “But I want to be a boy!”

Molly stared at George with disbelief. “Why?”

“Because I do. I hate everything about being a girl! Princesses and Barbies and Baby Dolls and all that pink and fluffy stuff! I hate it all! I can row and play cricket and I love watching sport and I just hate everything about being a girl. And I feel like a boy! So there!”

“My Daddy is a boy and he wears make up and likes pink and everything. And he’s still a boy. And he rows and he’s going to teach me and I like being a girl and I want to row! I think you are stupid!”

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. A. Girl.”

“Fine. Be a boy!”

“I will be!”

The two girls glared at each other. Timmy seemed completely unfazed by his little mistress’ shouting and anger. He was. He’d seen it time and time again. George didn’t get on with other human puppies, she was only happy with him. Instead he was enjoying the attention from the two males in Molly’s pack. In fact he had rolled over and was squirming on the sand on his back with his tail waving furiously as Robbie tickled his tummy and James scratched behind one ear. 

Finally James looked up, deciding it was time to intervene. “Molly,” he said with his warning tone. Daddy didn’t often get cross and he never shouted, not like Dad, instead he went quiet and white when Molly had broken the rules. He had only shouted once as far as Molly could remember, when she had spilt juice on his guitar. He had gone very loud and very shrill and it had terrified Molly.

“What Daddy?”

“If George wants to be a boy, she can.”

“Yes,” agreed Dad. “If you get angry with people who are funny with you for having two fathers you must let George be a boy if she wants to be one. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? It’s the right thing to do.”

“Is it?”

“Yes Molly. People have a right to be what they want.”

“Unless they are bad?” Molly clarified. “Like people who kill or hurt people hardy? Then it’s okay to mean to people like them.”

“It’s never okay to be mean. Daddy and I are never mean to bad people. We stop them so they can’t be bad, but that’s different.”

“Can I go to see the starfishes and things now? Or are you too cross George?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Bring her back at ten George,” Robbie called after her.

“Yes Sir. Sirs. Timmy! Heel!” George headed back towards the rocks, Molly and Timmy trotting in her wake.

Once they had gone, in search of coffee and something to eat, Robbie discovered the empty box of jam tarts and milkshake cartons pushed under the blanket. He shook his head and grinned. “Greedy gannet!” He sat back down, placing his coffee beside him on the sand. James snuggled into him and yawned. Robbie put an arm around him and lay them back on the blanket.

“Should we have trusted her?”

“Well, we know who her Mam is and how to contact her and if her Mam really has this – a – whatchamacallit dodah?”

“App? Yeah. I’ve read about them. American yummy mummies have them to track their teenagers. What do you think, innocent tomboy or a lot of trouble stored up in the future?”

“A determined young madam like that has a lot of trouble stored up whatever! But this is the twenty first century pet. Whether she’s lesbian, transgendered or straight going through an extreme tomboy phase, she’ll be fine.” Robbie then turned to James and grinned, “Providing she’s not Catholic of course,” he teased.

James gave him a look.

 

*

 

“What’s that?” Molly demanded, pointing towards a dark opening in the cliff.

“Oh. That’s a cave; one of the Smugglers’ Caves. Hundreds of years ago pirates smuggled things into the country to sell against the law.”

“Drugs and diamonds?” demanded Molly, ever the policemen’s daughter.

George laughed. “That’s nowadays silly! Then it was tea.”

“Tea!” exclaimed Molly.

“That’s what mother says. In those days it was really expensive and the government took lots of tea taxes. But you know how grown ups all really love tea?”

“My Dad does. He has hundreds of cups a day!” Molly exaggerated. Then she pointed again. “What’s that man doing?”

“S’sh,” said George, crouching down and holding Timmy’s collar. Molly sat down behind the rock next to George.

“What?”

“That bit of the beach is private. It’s called Smugglers’ Cove now because Mother gave that bit of Kirrin Cove to a wild life charity. Only the birds and seals are allowed to go there now.”

“Maybe he is a smuggler pirate!” gasped Molly, excited. “We should get Daddy.”

“Why?” George said scornfully. She didn’t think much of grown ups capabilities.

“Because he is a policeman and can arrest the pirate. I ’spect he isn’t ’muggling tea. It will be drugs!”

“S’sh!” George hissed again.  
They watched the balding Asian man with a moustache wearing baggy jeans and a red hoody clamber over the rocks carrying two Tesco carrier bags.

“There are drugs in those bags, I bet!” whispered George.

“Yeah,” agreed Molly. “Let’s get Daddy.”

“No! Wait! We must be sure. Your Daddy will need evidence,” George ended knowingly.

“Oh yes,” Molly agreed, nodding her head wisely. “Elephants.”

 

*

 

The two little girls and puppy waited, watching the cave entrance for a quite a few minutes, maybe even fifteen to twenty, before the man came out. Molly and Timmy grew bored and restless, Molly climbing rocks and looking for more starfish and Timmy splashing and paddling in the shallower rock pools.

“Quiet!” George whisper-shouted suddenly, grabbing hold of Timmy’s tail and pulling him to her. Molly squatted down next to them.

“What?”

George pointed.

The man had come out of the cave. He was on his phone. Molly wasn’t an expert on what people’s face said, she knew that, but she thought his was saying ‘sad’.

“He looks very angry,” George said.

“Does he?” Molly asked. George was bigger so she was probably right.

Just then the man began walking over the rocks towards the little girls and puppy. Hurriedly George pulled Molly and Timmy tightly to her and pulled them all behind a large rocky outcrop. As he went past they could hear him talking on the phone.

“She still hate me,” they heard him say. “That bitch has poisoned her mind.”

As he walked away from them he was obviously listening intently. As he went out of earshot they heard him say something like,

“Okay. Midnight. So I’ll bring her then. The little fishing quay in the village, right? Yeah I know it. I took her a bag of...”

Then he was too far away to overhear.

“He’s talking about a person. He said she. Gosh! This is so exciting!” George exclaimed. “Not drugs at all.”

“I know!” shouted Molly excitedly. “When we came to the holiday we stopped to sleep in a big shops and toilets and cafe place on the road and two policemen came to our car to check I belonged to my Daddy and Dad. They said that a girl about my size, age and colour was lost. Maybe she has been stolen by that man!”

“Kidnapped! Not lost! Although they must have really thought she was kidnapped if they made your fathers prove you were their daughter. I don’t mean to be rude but you are a different colour to them.”

“Am I? S’pose so. Does it matter?”

“Oh no! But that’s not important is it? That man has kidnapped a little girl like you!”

“Let’s get Daddy!”

“No! Wait! If there is a little girl in that cave, think how she will be feeling? We can’t leave her to be on her own anymore!”

“Oh.” Molly frowned, trying to think very hard until it hurt. “It will be dark. She will be scared. She will be missing her Dads. Or Mum and Dad,” Molly hurriedly corrected herself, remembering how she was the only child she knew with two fathers. “But it will be dark George. How do we get to her?”

“I have a torch. Besides, it might still be drugs. We must go and see.” George set off across the rocks, Timmy bounding in her wake. Molly followed, nervous of going into a dark cave and wanting her Daddy and Dad. But if they could be brave and arrest people and find ‘elephants’, then so could she!

 

*

 

Five minutes later, in her office in the caravan park, Frances Kirrin’s smart phone bleeped the particular programmed tone that alerted her that George was out of satellite tracking signal range. She was just wondering whether to panic when the two gentlemen who had arrived yesterday having booked four nights through Last Minute dot com rushed into her office looking far more panicked than she was feeling. After all, George more often than not was in the shadow of the cliffs or exploring the shallow caves towards the village. She knew better than to go onto the Nature Reserve and into the old smugglers’ caves. She was also an excellent swimmer with a healthy respect for the sea, so Frances had no worries on that score.

“How can I help you two gentlemen?”

“You have a daughter called George?” began the older man. He had some kind of very northern accent Frances couldn’t identify. He was shorter, stockier and well built compared to the other, looking to be in his fifties. He had a little grey in his dark hair and the deepest, expressive blue eyes, which now looked rather desperate with worry.

“Yes. What has she done now?”

“Oh. Nothing. That is...”

“She took our daughter to see the rock pools to look for sea creatures,” the other one said. He was much better spoken than his partner and he was as thin as a whippet, incredibly tall and very blond. He sounded calmer, except for the fact he was chewing at the side of thumb and rocking slightly on his heels. His eyes spoke of deep terror and he kept glancing unconsciously towards his older partner. There was a big age gap, Frances had to remind herself not to judge.

“She promised to have Molly back by ten,” the older man went on.

“She explained that you have a ‘find George’ tracking app,” went on the blond.

Frances glanced at her phone on her desk, still flashing the ‘out of signal’ icon.

“Ah,” she said awkwardly.


	3. Molly, George and Timmy to the rescue

The little girl was smaller than Molly, perhaps just turned three rather than the nearly four of Molly. Molly was also rather ahead in somethings compared with most of her pre-school contempories, even if other things confused her. The girl was wearing dirty Barbie pyjamas and a pink zip up hoody and pink Mary Jane Velcro fastened shoes. Her ankles were tied together with the kind of plastic ties Daddy used for food bags when they froze cakes and cookies they had baked together or for things like fruit and salad on picnics. A brand new expensive looking rag doll – probably Marks and Spencer, Molly was something of an expert on rag dolls – lay ignored by the little girl’s side. The Tesco bags they had seen the man carry into the cave had been emptied in front of the girl, showing things like biscuits, cheese slices, fruit, crisps and cakes. The girl had not eaten anything but as far as Molly could work out it was two sleeps since the policeman had banged on the car window and had stupidly thought she was the stolen girl and her daddies were thieves!

“Hello,” said George.

The girl stared at George and backed away. Just then Timmy bounced up to her and the girl cowered and screamed.

“Are you scared of dogs?” George said scornfully, forgetting that this little girl was kidnapped and imprisoned in a cave. Timmy was now licking the girl’s face and she obviously didn’t like it. “Timmy is only a puppy! He’s nothing to be scared of.”

The girl burst into tears.

Molly had been watching this interchange, trying to work out what Daddy would do at work. She sat down next to the girl and picked up the rag doll.

“I’m Molly. That is George. Don’t worry is you are scared of boys, George is a pretend one, not a proper one, she sits down to do a wee. The dog is a baby and he is called Timmy. I know his licking feels very yucky but it his way of saying hello and showing he likes you and wants you to be his friend. What is your dolly’s name?”

“It’s not my dolly! All my dollies are at home! Daddy took me away in the nighttime! I want my Mummy! I want my dollies! I want all my toys! I hate that one! I hate my Daddy! He is bad!”

“My Daddy and my Dad are good. They are policemen and we have come to save you. Come on.”

“I can’t stand up! I try and try to get them off my legs but I can’t!” The little girl burst into tears again.

“I have a penknife,” George said proudly, pulling it out of her pocket. She squatted down and set to work on the plastic ties. In no time at all the girl was free. Her ankles looked angry and sore. George hastily pulled down the pink pyjama trousers before the girl or Molly would make a fuss. Mother would have a cream for them, no doubt. She was jolly good at that sort of thing.

“Children aren’t allowed knives,” Molly protested, although she was glad George broke the rule and the girl could move her legs.

“That’s stupid! This is a Swiss Army Knife and it belonged to my uncle. It has all kinds of apps.” George began to open up the various attachments and show them off. Both younger girls were suitably impressed.

“We must go now,” George said, “before your father comes back.” She helped the girl to her feet. “What is your name?”

“Ferzana.”

“Come on then Ferzana. I’ll help you over the rocks. Molly, put that thing down!”

“It’s Ferzana’s dolly.”

“I hate it! Daddy got it for me! It’s not mine! I hate it!” Ferzana yelled at the top of her voice, making echoes. Molly and Ferzana stopped stock-still, eyes wide with terror, and Timmy’s tail went down and he began to whine.

“Aren’t you all a bunch of sillies? It’s only an echo. Leave the stupid toy Molly.”

“No! If Ferzana doesn’t want it, I will. Or Daddy will help me give it to a poor child or a child in hospital who is sick or something. Your Daddy took her from all her friends in her shop. It’s not her fault. You were scared and alone and you had that light and her. Think how she will feel all alone in the dark in this horrid cave!”

“Oh!” Ferzana began to cry.

“It’s not real,” grumbled George. “I was going to tell you to bring the lamp Molly. Then we can go through the tunnels of the caves and come out nearer Kirrin beach.”

“No!” Ferzana wailed. “I want to get out of the dark!”

“Me too,” said Molly, picking up the lamp anyway and carrying it and the rag doll she set off in the direction they had entered, towards the cave mouth.

 

*

 

As they climbed the rocks away from the caves and Smuggler’s Cove back towards Kirrin Beach and Cove and the caravan park they could see three adults clambering over rocks towards them. One was a woman, considerable shorter than the other two, wearing a green summer dress, beige cardigan and sensible, sturdy lace up shoes. She had been holding her ipad held out in front of her and looking at it but now she pointed in the girls’ direction and waved frantically. The two men started to wave too, the taller, thinner blond one broke away from the other two and bounded over the rocks toward them.

“It’s my Daddy!” yelled Molly and waved back. “Daddy!”

“Oh bother!” snapped George as she looked up and saw the woman. “My app wouldn’t work in the cave. Mother does fuss so! I’ll be in such trouble now.”

Ferzana squeezed George’s hand. “You saved me. You’re a good girl.”

George scowled deeply.

“Boy!” corrected Molly. “She’s a good boy!”

George’s face lit up as she grinned at Molly, but Molly didn’t notice, she was clambering quickly over the rocks towards her father. Timmy bounded after her, barking excitedly.

 

*

 

James scooped Molly up in his arms. “Don’t you ever, ever do that to us again Molly! Your Dad and I have been worried sick.”

“Why? Me and George have saved a girl.”

“What?” James glanced towards George, who was holding hands with a much littler Asian girl wearing dirty pyjamas. “Molly. Could you please explain to me what you mean?”

Molly took a deep breath, speaking very quickly. “You know the policemen who were checking on all little girls because one was lost? Well, we found her. Only she’d not lost. She was stolen! Her Daddy stole her from her Mummy! He is a bad Dad!”

“What?” James looked from Molly to George, Timmy and Ferzana.

“Ferzana Daddy! Her Daddy stole her from her Mummy and tied her up in a dark, cold, smelly cave! George and I rescued her, just like you and Dad do! Did. Dad is tired now,” Molly nodded knowledgably.

“Retired,” James corrected absently, staring at George and the little Asian girl as they walked towards him and Molly. He looked back towards Frances and Robbie as they walked across the rocks to him and the girls.

“It’s all true Sir,” George confirmed solemnly. “Ferzana was in the cave. He had tied her legs together with plastic ties. He is coming back before midnight to take her to a boat.”

“Daddy wants to take me to Pakistan!” Ferzana wailed. “I’m English! He won’t let me watch Peppa Pig or Holly and Ben or let me play with my Barbies! He says they are evil! He says Mummy is evil!”

James looked down at Ferzana, and as she looked up at him – he seemed like a giant to her – she burst into tears. “I want to go home! I want my Mummy!”

James put Molly back down and squatted down to Ferzana so he could look into her eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder as he reached into his jeans pocket and brought out his warrant card.

“It’s okay Ferzana. I’m a police officer. Look. This is my special badge to say so. Do you know your full name? Or your Mummy’s name? Do you know the name or the street and town where you and your Mummy live?”

Ferzana cried harder. “My Mummy is called Grace and we don’t live here! There is now sea in my town but I don’t know what it is called!” she wailed.

“What’s going on?” Robbie demanded just as Frances said firmly,

“George, what have you been up to now?”

“I’ve rescued a little girl Mother. Timmy and I have had an adventure.”

“Not another one!” moaned Frances. “We’d better phone the police.”

“On to it,” James said, already on the phone, intent on speeding things up by by-passing usual civilian call centre channels and walking away from the sudden chaos as George argued with her mother, Ferzana’s wails grew to ear-splitting levels and Molly had sat down to rock and moan, hands over her ears, upset by Ferzana’s tears and George and Frances arguing. In among all this noise, as if wasn’t loud enough, one huge but still young puppy barked excitedly.

Robbie, taking in the situation quickly, picked up Ferzana and comforted her, reassuring her he too was a police officer and they would get her back to her Mummy very soon. Molly, after all, was best left alone when like this as long as she was in no risk of hurting herself.

 

*

 

“Ma’am,” James was saying to Innocent, almost out of earshot of the chaos behind him. “I’ve found myself in a bit of a situation here. Could you get in touch with the Dorset and the Wiltshire Police please? Molly and her new friend found a young girl tied up in a cave. Ferzana. Mixed African/Asian heritage. Two to three years old. Abducted by her estranged father in an attempt to get her out of the country illegally to get her on a flight to Pakistan from France. That’s all we know Ma’am.”

James paused, waiting, listening to Innocent tap the keyboard, searching the PNC. It didn’t take long; the kidnap of a toddler with the possibility of being removed from the country was flagged urgent with an APB to all forces and air and seaports.

“Okay James. I’ll get in touch now. Tell me where you are and I’ll send the local police to you and the Wiltshire Police to fetch the mother to you.”

“We’ll be in the office of Kirrin Cove Caravan Park,” James said, glancing at France who, having got over her initial worry fuelled anger at George having become embroiled in yet another adventure, something she had a tendency to do over the past couple of years, was now feeling proud of her young level headed brave daughter.

Frances now walked up to James, shaking her head, “We’ll go back to my house and wait there. Ferzana will be hungry. Kirrin Cottage.”

James repeated the address as Frances told him. Robbie came up to them, a small girl in each arm. George and Timmy followed him.

“Should I stay here until the police arrive here? Secure the cave for SOCO?”

“It’s alright,” Frances said. “This is a restricted Nature Reserve that allows only registered permit holders on to. I’ll e-mail the Trust now and let them know that the cave is a scene of crime and for their members to avoid it until the police give the all clear.”

“Right,” replied Robbie. “Lead on. I know I need a cup of tea, and you’re right, I’m sure this little one needs some breakfast.”

“What do you like Ferzana?” asked Frances as she let the way to Kirrin Cottage, “I have eggs, baked beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns and toast. How does any of that sound? And I baked some cinnamon muffins yesterday. Oh! I think I may have some croissants and pain au chocolat in the freezer. Unless Quentin has eaten them.”

“Daddy can’t defrost” George said scornfully.

“But he has been know to eat frozen cakes and pastry,” Frances said sadly.

“True!” snorted George.

Robbie and James smiled at George, then each other. James took Molly, who snuggled into her Daddy’s shoulder and began sucking her thumb. “It’s hard work doing your job,” she said indistinctly, yawning around her thumb.

“Yes, it is,” James agreed.

“But worthwhile, eh pet?” Robbie said, including Ferzana, “Don’t you worry love, your Mummy is on her way here to fetch you.”

Ferzana nodded, then looked at Frances, “Can I have my eggs all running and soldiers to dunk in?” Now she knew her Mummy was on her way to fetch her she suddenly felt very hungry indeed.

 

*

 

It didn’t take them very long at all for the police to join them at Kirrin Cottage. The older woman in her own clothes seemed to be in charge and she sent the two men in uniform and the young man Molly guessed to be her sergeant to the cave, telling her sergeant to send to SOCO for forensics. Just the sort of thing Daddy used to do for Dad, thought Molly proudly. She whispered to George and Ferzana wisely, nodding her head, “Scene of crime officers, to look for elephants.” She was gorging herself on hash browns and baked beans, everything else barring the slimy eggs and horrid yucky tomatoes being wheat based. Dad had eaten two muffins with his tea. Daddy went off to talk to the lady in charge. She was higher than Dad had been; she was called DCI Mary Andrews.

After she had talked to Daddy, DCI Andrews wanted to talk to the girls. George explained everything and Molly let her, deciding to keep quiet as she knew from experience that grown ups never listened to pre-schoolers, then just smiled a lot and told them they were ‘cute’. It made Molly’s angry normally but today she had to be like Dad and Daddy and follow the rules so Ferzana’s bad Dad could be arrested and locked up.

Once she had heard about the overheard conversation, DCI Andrews phoned her DS with changed plans.

 

*

 

The following morning DCI Andrews phoned James, telling him Ferzana’s father had been arrested coming out of the cave at 11.45 pm. Ferzana herself was safely home with her mother in Salisbury.

Later, after breakfast, Robbie and James took Molly to Kirrin Cottage to play with George and Timmy. It was lovely to know she’d finally found a friend whom she understood and who understood her, even if George was nearly twice her age and pulled her into an ‘adventure’. Frances felt the same. George had always been a loner too as well as a magnet for trouble, or ‘adventures’ as George called them.

Three days later Molly had the attention of all her nursery classmates as she explained how she had rescued a ‘stolen girl’’. James returned to work at his new rank; ready to meet his new DS Innocent had assigned him. Robbie still didn’t get enough sleep nor learnt how to cook more than pasta and sauce or heat tins of soup or baked beans.

 

THE END?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is bizarre crossover, and because of it I would appreciate all constructive criticism and comments, as long as they're nicely put :) Thank you.
> 
> George Kirrin, Timmy and all the baggage and rights from the Famous Five series belong, of course, to the Enid Blyton Estate. I've just enjoyed playing with them, after all, they were the first books I ever read without pictures and I am every indebted to George as my hero and role model and for the FF springboarding me into whole worlds of literature. And also, before Lewis at bedtime, once upon a time I read the entire series to BK, at least seven time, from the age of 4. Once, I was reading to her on a long train journey - the only way to keep he from bouncing on the seats - and when I looked up the entire carriage was listening with rapt attention!

**Author's Note:**

> Contains, as you could tell, no doubt, characters taken from Enid Blyton's Famous Five. I have removed the tag as it isn't really to FF fans taste, as I have discovered from some (deleted) very upsetting comments. This is a Lewis fic, for the ever polite, always kind Lewis fans <3


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